


Dangerous Little Games

by codenamecynic



Series: The Hatesex Chronicles [3]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II
Genre: Dragon Age Kink Meme, F/M, Hate Sex, Rough Sex, Sexual Content
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-18
Updated: 2012-08-18
Packaged: 2017-11-12 09:19:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 767
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/489266
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/codenamecynic/pseuds/codenamecynic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Self-hate, sex, and dubious motives. Bethany/Cullen.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dangerous Little Games

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by the kink-meme prompt: http://dragonage-kink.livejournal.com/9086.html?thread=36569982#t36569982

What they’re doing is wrong. She knows that. It’s wrong and it’s dangerous and it’s really sort of reckless and foolish and stupid because neither of them are children to pretend at innocence.

And it’s ironic too, because that’s the way everyone treats her. Poor naïve Bethany, sweet innocent Bethany, little helpless Bethany, locked up in the Gallows like a princess in a tower. They must think it so very romantic, the dwarf and his stories, the pirate and her innuendo, her sister and the flaming sword of the Amell name.

She has a flaming sword too, on a shield propped up against the wall where Cullen left it.

They all thought he was innocent too. Poor tortured Cullen, sweet well-meaning Cullen, silly noble, honorable Cullen, locked up in the Order like a slave in a quarry. The fingers up her ass and the mouth between her thighs beg to differ.

This isn’t the sort of thing that happens to her, so she _makes_ it happen, and it is almost disgusting how easy it is. A twitch of a hip, a come-hither gaze, an act she puts on along with her robes in the morning. A girl willing to give it all away can take whatever she wants, and there are easier ways than blood magic to get the Knight-Captain on his knees.

They both hate this place. Even gilded shackles begin to chafe eventually, and the Gallows was tarnished long before it claimed her as its own. It is the only thing they have in common, both frustrated, confined, restricted, her by the fears of others and him by his own sense of duty. She is a mage and he a templar; she has no illusions about what this means, about everything this pretend relationship is not.

Stone walls have turned her bitter and as she grinds herself against the rough beard around his mouth, pulls her nipples through the gaping bodice of her robes, she realizes she does not care. He is a warm body, straight white teeth and a handful of blond curls to grab on to. She doesn’t know what he sees when he looks at her; another faceless skirt, maybe her cousin, maybe her sister, it doesn’t matter. They don’t _talk;_ it’s a waste. They don’t need to.

He turns her over onto his desk. He has taken the time to clear the papers from it prior to her arrival, and she finds that funny. Cullen may not give half a damn about the woman writhing on the end of his cock or even remember her name, but he is still gentleman enough to make sure the place is tidy.

He’s big and she feels herself stretch almost to discomfort, still unused to these dangerous little games. She relishes it though, lets the sensation bear her back to the moment and safeguard against idle thoughts. She doesn’t want to _think,_ she just wants to _feel,_ and the heavy pulse between her legs erases the chill of empty, echoing hallways and the flutter she feels in her breast when she stands at the window of her classroom high above rock-crashing waves and thinks about how easy it would be to leap. Hawkes are meant to fly, aren’t they?

But he keeps her tethered to the earth, the weight of him bearing her into the ground, burying her, and she is _angry,_ angry enough to strike him across the face, to raise a red flush across his cheek and a welling of blood at the corner of his lip. Blood mage, it’s her legacy, it might as well be her name; she has no use for demons but she wants to see someone bleed.

When she comes she comes collared by his hands around her wrists and his belt looped around her neck. She gasps to the tune of black sparks at the edges of her vision and the subdued roar of his voice on the periphery of her hearing and for a moment she thinks she might just die, but he is not so kind and much more careful.

It should be intimate but it isn’t, her life is in the palm of his metal gloved hand whether or not it happens to be up her skirt. They don’t kiss because that is something that lovers do, and they are not lovers. Cullen loves only an abstract, faith and duty and the past, and Bethany is far too _present,_ far too real. But hate is a better distraction than love, and she has little use for tenderness when she can have cruelty instead.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [[podfic] Dangerous Little Games](https://archiveofourown.org/works/10946664) by [BabelGhoti (TheHandmadeTale)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheHandmadeTale/pseuds/BabelGhoti)




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